The Experiment
by genies9
Summary: [QuilxClaire] Quil imprinted on Claire when she was 2. But what if their relationship didn't go quite as planned? And how will their friendship be put to the test when Claire's life is endangered?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So… I had it in my head to write a Quil/Claire fanfic. I'm not sure if I want to write this, so it would be terribly helpful if you'd review and tell me if it's worth the effort. :) I have ideas, just not sure if it's worth writing 'em out.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any recognizable characters. :-( PLEASE DON'T SUE ME!

Chapter 1

**Claire POV**

What I remembered when I woke up: icy roads, the windshield wipers on Quil's old truck going as fast they'll go, a pair of headlights, squealing tires (theirs) and brake pedal pushed to the floor (mine.)

What they told me when I woke up: A minivan lost control on the slippery roads and hit me on the driver's side when I—they assumed—didn't notice in time to hit the brakes or swerve.

What they told me, and what I could feel or see for myself: A little banged up (them,) three broken or bruised ribs, a minor concussion, and a broken leg (me.) And one totaled pick-up truck.

It could have been worse.

"Hey," Quil greeted quietly from the chair next to my hospital bed when I first opened my eyes. He dropped what he'd been holding, a news magazine from the looks of it, though I doubt he'd really been reading it, and leaned toward me, on my bedside table and leaned forward in his seat.

Fourteen years of knowing Quil Ateara and he still takes my breath away every time. It doesn't matter that I've been steadfastly trying not to think of him in those terms for the past couple years. It doesn't matter that I know he's keeping secrets from me—I stopped asking him about it a long time ago, anyhow. Every time I look at him it's like having the wind knocked out of me. Especially when he looks at me like he was when I opened my eyes that first time in the hospital after the accident: worried, terrified, like he wanted to hold me and never let go.

It's funny how life works out sometimes, though, isn't it?

"Hey," I whispered back. I said the first thing that came to mind then. "I'm really sorry about the truck."

Before the sentence was fully out of my mouth he was shaking his head, a sad smile playing across his lips. "Don't be." He reached out a tentative hand and, when I didn't pull back, laid it on my cheek. "What you _should_ be apologizing for is nearly taking yourself away from me." His eyes tightened before he added, trying to lighten the mood, "Besides, I'd been thinking I needed a new truck anyway."

I smiled despite myself. "Sorry," I whispered again. "Is anyone else here?"

He nodded, sitting back in his chair again. "Sam and Emily came right away. They notified them when you got hit, and Sam called me. Leah and Seth stopped in for awhile, but they couldn't stay. Emily said your mom called. They're catching the next flight out." Quil said all this like he'd rehearsed it. Probably what he'd been focusing on this entire time so he wouldn't have to focus on where we were.

The official story is that I live with my aunt, Emily, her husband, Sam, and my cousin Brooke. My dad got a job offer in Sacramento when I was ten, and that's where my parents and sister live now. I'd be there, too, except that I threw such a fit about moving that they finally agreed to let me live with my aunt—my mother's younger sister—at least until I graduated high school, anyway.

That's what we told my parents, at least. And, yeah, I have a room at the Uley's, and enough clothes there so that no one gets suspicious when my family comes up to visit. I spend the night there sometimes, especially now that Brooke's a little older and more of a friend than a relative, but most of the time, I'm at Quil's.

I don't think I even need to get into how awkward that can get.

Though, I guess it was worse when Embry was still living there. I lived with them both until I was thirteen, when Embry moved in with his girlfriend—now fiancée—Jen. Or maybe it was better then, I don't know. At any rate, Quil had been leaving a key for me since the time I forgot my house key and had run over to his house so I wouldn't be stuck out on the porch until my mom got home from whatever errand she'd been running—because, naturally, I'd forgotten to tell her that morning that I only had a half-day of school, so she wasn't home to meet me. Of course, his grandfather had still been alive then, so there would have always been someone home to let me in, key or no.

So, yeah, that's why, on the first day of winter break, I was driving to the store in Quil's old beat-up pick-up truck, which I borrowed during the day sometimes, when my brakes failed and some poor lady in a minivan skidded on a patch of ice. And why Quil was the first person my uncle Sam called when he found out I'd been in a bad accident. To add insult to injury, I never did get to have the ice cream I was driving to the store to buy in the first place.

I told Quil that last part just to hear him laugh, though. And to get him to stop thinking what I know he had to have been thinking then: that it was his fault I couldn't stop in time. That he should have checked to make sure his brakes were working properly—I heard him muttering later, when I'm sure he thought I couldn't hear him, that they'd been sticking recently. Like that was the real problem. That he could've prevented the whole thing by getting off his lazy ass and going for me. He probably even thought up a whole list of things that he "needed" from the store that he could have gotten so he could pick up a carton of double fudge for me on the way.

What I didn't tell any of them: The brakes worked fine—for awhile, anyway. They worked long enough to get me out of La Push and through a couple stop lights. That maybe, if I hadn't stopped for that yellow light and just gone through, there might have been enough brake fluid that hadn't leaked out yet to save me from getting hit—or at least that she would've hit the hood of the car or something, and not gotten as far as my door. That "sticking brakes" hadn't been my problem.

What I didn't know yet for sure, but could easily guess: My car "accident" wasn't really an accident; if the minivan hadn't hit me, I would've ended up hitting something else.

It could have been a lot worse. It was _meant_ to have been a lot worse.

* * *

A/N: And… yeah. Review? Tell me it doesn't suck? If it does, lie to me? Lol. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've never had this sort of relationship with my own sister, but I have friends who do, and I'm terribly jealous. :(

Side note: I was trying to think of a name for Claire's sister (character naming is the thing I hate more than anything else… except maybe story naming.) I offered the name to my friend (who sadly cannot read this because she hasn't gotten to that point of Eclipse yet. Grrr) and it was met with approval, so I suppose it works. Though, it might just be because that particular friend is obsessed with Audrey Hepburn…

Chapter 2

"You know, if you wanted attention, there are easier ways of getting it."

I glanced up from the book I was reading—I'd had Quil run home to get it for me—and grinned. My sister, Audrey, came into the room and plopped down into the chair Quil had vacated earlier. She and my parents had gotten in a couple hours ago. I had the feeling they were taking me in shifts—my parents had been there earlier, my mother throwing her arms around me and crying while I patted her back, told her I was fine—well, more or less—and shot pleading looks at my dad, who, thankfully, had been worried but a lot more subdued. They were off sampling the hospital's cafeteria food, and apparently that meant it was Audrey's turn.

I closed my book and did my best to act nonchalant. "Sorry. I was running out of ideas. I tried borrowing Jacob's motorcycle, but he wouldn't loan it to me. He said if he did, Quil would probably murder him." I sighed.

Audrey laughed. "You didn't really, did you?"

"Do I look crazy?"

She tilted her head to the side and studied me for a moment, as though really contemplating the question. Then she straightened and said, all serious now, "So, honestly, how are you?"

I grimaced. "How do you think I am?"

Audrey nodded. "At any rate, you seem to be taking all this—" she motioned to my prone position on the hospital bed—"a lot better than I would have. If it were me, I'd be a wreck."

I let out a choked laugh. "I might still be in shock, try me in a day or two."

And here is why I love my sister: Whereas anyone else would have hounded the subject, Audrey, bless her heart, changed topics, knowing I didn't really want to talk about it.

Not that the topic she chose was any better.

"So… how's Matt?"

Despite myself, I turned a little red. "Fine. He was here a little while ago. You guys just missed him actually."

Audrey nodded thoughtfully. "That explains it then."

I was almost afraid to ask. "That explains what?"

She shrugged. "I was wondering why Quil had that expression on his face when we came in." I didn't have to ask what expression she was referring to. I'd seen it enough times myself.

I cringed. "Do we really have to talk about this?"

"All I'm saying is—"

"All you ever seem to say is…"

Audrey glared at me before continuing. "All I'm saying is that I think it's stupid to go out with another guy—one who you're obviously not in love with—"

"What are you talking about?" I asked. We'd had this conversation about a dozen times already. "Matt and I have been together for a year." We'd just past the one year mark, actually, the week before.

"I'm not trying to say you don't have feelings for him! Just, you know, that you quite obviously have stronger feelings for someone else. And don't act like you don't know who I'm talking about."

"Audrey."

"Claire."

I sighed. "It isn't like that."

She snorted. "Yes it is. You can't lie to me, I know you too well, remember."

"Ugh." Was the best reply I could come up with.

We were quiet for awhile. Long enough, actually, that I picked up my book again and started reading.

Finally, I heard Audrey sigh. "God, Claire, what is with you?"

I didn't bother to look up from my book. "I just got into a car accident, and am laying in a hospital bed. What do you think?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Audrey shake her head. "It's not just now. I noticed it when you came down for Thanksgiving, too." I finally looked up from my book long enough to see her frowning at me. "Something's off."

My sister might be my best friend in the world—next to Quil, anyway—but there are some things that are just best left unsaid.

Three months. That's about how long ago they started coming. Weird, unsigned notes left in my locker. They weren't there every day, or even every week, but they started showing up often enough for me to take notice. They weren't threatening to begin with, at least not overtly so. To be honest, mostly I thought they were a joke. Someone playing a prank. They'd probably get bored and leave me alone after awhile.

Except that they didn't, and after awhile, they _did_ become threatening. Still incredibly cryptic, and typewritten so I had no hope of recognizing the person's handwriting.

And then, just in case I wasn't taking the notes seriously enough, someone—I assumed the same someone. There couldn't be _two_ people who hated me that much. Hell, I couldn't even think of the one—cut my brakes.

_Why?_ I had no idea.

At any rate, I couldn't tell Audrey all that. Especially when I couldn't be a hundred percent sure that the two things were related—a small part of me wanted to believe Quil's version, that something else had been wrong with the brakes—and I didn't want to sound like some paranoid idiot.

Which, I know, I know, makes me enough of an idiot as it is.

So, in the end, all I could do was mutter "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine" and hope that I was wrong about the rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Quil POV**

When I got up the next morning—oh, all right, afternoon—the last thing I wanted to do was deal with anyone. All I wanted was to make myself some coffee, try not to think about how much better Claire's coffee tasted, and head over to the hospital.

What I want, I guess, means nothing.

A little dark-haired imp was perched on my kitchen counter, apparently waiting for me. "Someone slept late," she said in greeting.

I groaned. "Audrey. What are you doing in here?"

She held up a key. "You do know, right, that Claire hasn't needed the extra key in years?"

I ignored her, crossing to cabinets and pulling out the coffee maker. "Is there something you wanted, Audrey, or are you just here to comment on my sleeping habits?"

I heard her sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about Claire."

"So talk," I said, plugging the coffee maker into the wall.

"Something weird is going on with her." When I didn't answer, Audrey pressed, "You can't tell me you haven't noticed. You live in the same house with her."

Audrey was the only one in Claire's family—besides that which lived in La Push, anyway—that knew about our living arrangements.

"Of course I've noticed."

"And?"

"And," I said, turning away from my task, having gotten the coffee started, "there's not a whole lot I can do unless she confides in me." I didn't mention that it was killing me to watch Claire, day after day, while whatever was going on weighed so heavily on her. It broke my heart more than any rejection ever could.

Audrey just shook her head at me. "So what?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "So what?" I repeated.

"Yes. So what? Look, I've talked to Claire—"

"I should hope so, since she's your sister."

She glared at me, and I had to bite back a smile. "I know you two have some weird thing going on—and how you won't tell her things—"

"She hasn't asked me anything in two years," I interjected, wincing inwardly. It had been my unwillingness to tell Claire the truth—about being a werewolf, about imprinting, all of it—that had driven a wedge between us in the first place. At the time, I'd told myself she was too young, only fourteen. Unfortunately, by the time she'd become "old enough" she had given up on asking altogether.

"So if she asked you now, you'd tell her?"

"Maybe."

Audrey seemed to consider this for a moment, then sighed again. "At any rate, I think you're both being ridiculous. And in the meantime, something's going on that you could be helping with."

I didn't really have anything to say to that.

I was poring myself a cup of coffee when Audrey spoke up again. "Quil… this thing, whatever it is you couldn't tell Claire…"

"Yes?" I was suddenly wary. I love Audrey, I do. Not like I love Claire, of course, but she's more like a sister to me than anything. But still, there were some things—a lot of things—that I couldn't tell her. Not without Sam's okay, anyway, and definitely not before Claire.

I could see her considering her next words carefully. "Is it bad? Whatever it is?"

I relaxed a little, allowing myself a small, wry smile. "No. No, it's not bad. Not really." And it wasn't. That didn't make the fear of the truth scaring Claire off any less, though.

"That's something, then, I guess." She reached out and nabbed my mug from me, taking a sip. "Blech. What the hell is this?"

I took it back from her. "Coffee, what else?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Are you sure? It doesn't taste like any coffee I've ever had."

I rolled my eyes and took a playful swipe at her head, which she ducked. "You know, I think I like you better when you wouldn't talk that much around me?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "I was three. I didn't know that many words to begin with."

I sighed. "Those were the days…"

"Oh, shut up." Audrey hopped down off the counter and started out of the kitchen. "I'll put the key back where I found it, I guess. You going to see Claire?"

"Of course," I answered, as though there was no other place I could possibly be. And of course, there wasn't.

Audrey nodded, and glanced over her shoulder at me. "Tell her."

"Yeah, yeah," was all I said in response, though inside I wondered morosely if it weren't entirely too late for that.

A/N: I'm not sure what the point of this chapter was. That might be because I wrote three chapters in one night. Oi. I don't know what got into me.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Y'all ought to love me for writing this chapter after all the trouble I've been through tonight. :( Noisy neighbors, trips home, trips back to school (I live in a dorm,) trips back home again… my goodness. And you know, because this is on my dad's computer, I'm going to have to e-mail this to myself so I can save it to my laptop, just 'cause I like having all the chapters together. -sigh-

Hmm. And, as a side note: The last time I had a broken bone, I was two, so the memory is… well, pretty much non-existent. ;) The closest I've come since then was when I sprained my finger playing football in gym class back in high school. Well, okay, I guess it serves me right for playing anything in gym.

Chapter 4

_3 months later…_

**Claire POV**

"How's your leg feel?" Matt asked as he turned the car out of the school parking lot.

I shrugged. It was the end of my first week without my cast and crutches. I'd finally been liberated from the monstrosity—that's what Audrey liked to call it—after a too long, but mostly—keyword being "mostly"—uneventful, recovery. "It feels all right."

"No pain?" When I shook my head, Matt smiled. "Good."

I met Matt about a year and a half ago. He was a junior then, a year ahead of me—which, really, made him closer to two years older than me, since my parents made me start school younger than normal—almost five instead of almost six—but I'd seen him around a lot because he did a lot of work for my Chemistry teacher. Somehow, after awhile, helping me out on labs and stuff—which I was hopeless at—turned into talking about more personal stuff, which turned into hanging out after school as friends. And, when he asked me on a date a little under four months after it all started, I told him yes.

He was a good boyfriend. He was good guy in general. He was nice, he was smart, he was funny but not too goofy, he respected my boundaries, and, despite the (very embarrassing) speech Quil gave me before our first date, apparently not only interested in "getting in my pants." Or if he was, he had more patience than anyone I'd ever met, if my continued virgin status was anything to speak of. That, and my family liked him. Even Audrey, though she thought I was settling.

And, most importantly, he wasn't Quil.

I wasn't blind. I knew how Quil felt about me. And, if I wasn't careful and let my mind wander to places it shouldn't go—let myself imagine how things could be if I just let them happen that way—I'd end up feeling the same way. I'd end up wanting things I can't possibly have. Not now, not with so many questions left unanswered. As it was, I cared about Quil too much to let our relationship, such as it was, fall apart completely.

But maybe that's just me being selfish.

Anyway. In truth, I was pretty lucky to have found Matt. I don't know anyone else who would be able to take the living arrangements—and the need for the secrecy about them around my parents—so well. Or anyone who could handle Quil's botched attempts at polite conversation, for that matter. If nothing else, I was grateful, at least, that Quil was making an effort.

If there was any problem with my relationship with Matt, it was that, come the end of summer, he'd off to Columbia, clear across the country, and I'd still be stuck here. In La Push.

Three thousand miles was an awful long way for a relationship that was, let's face it, only semi-serious. But I wasn't quite ready to cross that bridge yet.

Most of the ride to my house quiet. Matt didn't like to play the radio that much, so the only sound in the car was the gentle hum of the engine. But it wasn't an awkward silence, at least. More of a gentle lull between topics than anything.

When Matt finally pulled up in front my house, I glanced over at him. "You want to come in for a bit?"

Matt started to answer, but then looked back at Quil's "new"—well, new to us, anyway, it was really about five years old—truck in the driveway. "Maybe not today." He gave me a wry smile, knowing I'd understand.

I did. "Sure." I leaned over and gave a quick peck before unbuckling my seatbelt. "See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and hopped out of the car, heading toward the house. I turned to wave back at him, knowing he'd still be in the same spot, waiting till he saw I was safely inside the house before he left, just like always.

Calm. Easy. Predictable. Just the way I liked having my life.

There was a note waiting for me when I got inside, tacked up on the refrigerator where he knew I'd find it and written in Quil's usual chicken scratch.

_Claire_, it read.

_Went to Sam and Emily's. I'll be back around 6. If you get hungry, start dinner without me & call if you need anything._

_Love, Quil_

I smiled, crumpling up the note. Typical Quil. He didn't go so many places that it would be hard to guess where he was, even without a note, but still he always felt the need to leave one.

I grabbed a quick snack in the kitchen before heading to my bedroom to start on homework.

However, when I got there, I found a note of a very different nature, tacked this time to my pillow.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to let you guys in on a little secret: alerts are lovely, but you know what I really love? Reviews. Mmm. They're pretty much the best thing ever. They make me insanely happy. And, you know, if I'm happy… 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I nearly jumped out of my skin about an hour later when I heard someone bang on the front door. I'd been sitting on my bed, clutching what was left of the note—I'd ripped it up after reading it—for dear life.

Someone had been in my room. When? Why? Matt had driven me home directly after the last bell rang, there hadn't been nearly enough time to sneak into the house and leave the note. Or to shred my sweater, the remains of which I found in my closet after I found the note.

Of course, I'd been assuming that whoever the person was who was doing all this was someone I went to school with, since the notes had started in my locker. But I couldn't assume anything.

Which is why I didn't relax at all when I heard Embry call through the door, "Claire? You in there? Open up!"

The only thing that really got me up to answer the door was the thought that if I didn't he'd call Quil, and then I'd have a lot more explaining to do.

Not that I honestly thought that Embry would ever do anything to me. But how could I really be sure of anything?

"Hey," Embry said when I finally opened the door for him. "I think somebody stole your extra key, I couldn't find it anywhere."

I tried my best to keep my expression blank as I watched him enter the house. "No one stole anything. I moved it." What I'd actually done was run out onto the front porch, where it was usually hidden, and grabbed it before running back to my room and throwing it to the bottom of my laundry basket, under the dirtiest piece of clothing I could find.

Embry shot me an incredulous look. "Why the heck would you do that?"

I shrugged, still struggling to master my expression. "It seemed too foolhardy to leave it out there. Anyone could find it. Besides, we only left it out there because I'd forget my keys, and I haven't done that in years."

"I guess," he muttered, shaking his head.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked him, scooting around him along the wall of the tiny living room.

Embry shrugged. "Quil asked me come and grab an extra shirt for him."

"Oh." I didn't even bother to ask why Quil would need another one. Weird things like that were always on the seemingly endless list of questions no one would answer. When he didn't head toward Quil's room right away, I said tentatively, "Umm… they're in the same place they've always been."

Embry peered down at me. "Claire, are you okay?"

My laugh sounded forced even to my own ears. "Of course I am."

His brow furrowed. "Are you sure? Do you want me to call Quil, or…"

"No!" He raised his eyebrows at my outburst. "I mean… no, I'm fine, really." I shooed him towards Quil's bedroom. "Go get him a shirt before Chief Swan has to arrest him for indecent exposure."

Embry snorted at that, but at least he finally complied.

I was relieved when he finally left, but of course he'd tell Quil. When Quil called me a while later to say that he'd be a little later than expected and to have dinner without him, he sounded worried. Well, okay, Quil always sounded worried lately when he talked to me. I was a walking bundle of nerves.

When Quil got home, I was still in my room—to be honest, I hadn't actually left it since Embry had left—trying to focus on the homework that didn't even need to be done for two more days, just to have something normal to think about.

"Claire?" I only barely stopped myself from jumping in surprise. I looked up to see Quil standing in my doorway, a look of concern on his face. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure. Everything's fine," I managed to squeak out.

Quil hesitated, looking torn. I could practically hear his thought process. Did he press the issue? Did he leave me alone? Was this something I had to deal with on my own, should he just let me come to him if I wanted, needed, to?

There was a small part of me—the part that wasn't currently being overshadowed by intense paranoia—that was saddened by the whole thing. Two years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. I would have told Quil everything that had happened, and would have been relieved for once to submit to his overprotective tendencies. I didn't know who I could trust, but that would have never included _Quil_ of all people. He was the exception to the rule, to every rule.

Anyway, what Quil settled for saying was "You know if there's anything you need, you can tell me, right?"

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn't true. Not now, anyway.

When Quil asked if I'd had dinner, I lied and told him yes, even though in truth I'd been hiding out in my bedroom almost every minute since I'd come home.

What's more depressing? I couldn't even tell if Quil could see through my lie.

…

I was a lot better the next day. At any rate, I didn't jump at every little sound—or at least not all the time—and I was able to function like a normal human being. I got up, made myself some breakfast, started the coffee so Quil would have some when he finally got up, finally did the homework I'd been pretending to work on the day before, and even went with Matt to his little brother's basketball game.

I didn't know what I was going to do, but sitting around being terrified wasn't going to help anything. Nor would looking over my shoulder ever few seconds, since I didn't even _know_ who I was supposed to be looking out for. For all I knew, it could the lady in the checkout line at the store who had it out for me—it could've been anyone.

At least I knew it wasn't some stupid prank. Maybe I could try and write off the accident as being caused by something else—icy roads, bad brakes, whatever—but it was hard to ignore a shredded sweater and a note promising me a similar fate very soon. Especially when they were left in my own bedroom.

Unfortunately, it was a bit difficult to find a way to put an end to it when I couldn't trust anyone enough to tell them what was going on.

A/N: Claire's a tad paranoid… Actual noteworthy events are coming up, though, don't worry. As in, evil-stalker-dude appearances, and actual conversations with Quil. :o I know, I know, what a radical idea. Quil and Claire talking. I don't know where I get these things sometimes.

;) In all seriousness, though… thank y'all for the reviews. They do make me terribly happy, so I appreciate 'em. Keep 'em coming.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

In all honesty, I was pretty much asking for it.

What I should have done is let Quil come pick me up. That's what any sensible person would do—especially any sensible person with a murderous stalker.

Clearly, though, I wasn't a sensible person. If I was, I wouldn't have walked home from school by myself.

It started just before lunch when Matt, who admittedly looked a little pale, told me that he wasn't feeling well, and was going home early. Could I get home okay? I told him it wasn't a problem, and to get better.

I called Quil, but he was tied up with other things for awhile. He offered to come get me anyway, but I told him not to bother, that I'd find someone else.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, there wasn't anyone around who could give me a ride home. Not a single soul.

So I ended up walking home. I reasoned that it wasn't _that_ far of a walk. It would take me fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, tops. I only really got a ride to and from school because it was more convenient, anyway.

I was only about five minutes from home when I noticed the other shadow on the ground, quickly overtaking my own. It was the only warning I had before I felt the sharp, pointy edge of a knife poke into my back. And then a soft, ragged voice—distorted, I realized later, so that I wouldn't be able to recognize it—whispering in my ear, "You're going to be a good girl and not kick up a fuss, understand?"

I numbly followed his gentle shove toward the trees, away from the main road, my mind racing to remember what little self-defence Quil had tried to teach me. Of course, with Quil, I'd never had to worry about him _actually_ hurting me.

When we were far enough in the trees that I guess he wasn't afraid of anyone seeing, he shoved me again, this time hard enough that I landed on my knees in the mud.

"Why…?" I managed to croak out before a sudden blow to the back of my head sent me sprawling face first.

"Shut up!" he hissed.

My attempt to turn over onto my back was met with another blow. By this point, my head was pounding and my entire body was shaking. What did I do? I wasn't going to just lie there and let him kill me. I was unarmed against his knife and, if the length of his shadow was anything to go by, a lot smaller than he was. If I screamed and no one heard me, I'd be dead anyway. Or he'd kill me before anyone who heard could reach us. My only real option was to try and fight. Even if it didn't help any, at least I didn't just lay there—in the _mud_ no less—and let him kill me.

Not that I thought it through quite so coherently. In my head, it was more like "Oh, my God, oh my God…" while reason struggled to break through the panic.

I tried to raise myself up, only to be met by his foot coming down on my back. To my horror, a sound like a whimper escaped my lips. I tried again, my fingers digging into the mud as best they could and I half turned. I caught a glimpse of black hair, but not much else—of course, half the guys I knew had black hair, family members included. I kicked out my left leg, hitting him in the knee.

I heard him curse, and a sharp pain erupted in my side. Another kick and I was face down in the mud again. But not before I had the chance to let out a shriek.

And, by some miracle, someone _did_ hear me. I had enough time to experience relief at the sound of approaching voices before something hard made contact with the back of my head. And then everything went black.

* * *

"I could've sworn I heard someone."

"Probably just an animal. C'mon, let's get back…"

The voices were already fading away when I finally managed to gain consciousness again. I groaned, sitting up and lifting my hand to hold my aching head. A quick survey told me that my attacker was nowhere in sight, and that I was farther in the trees than I had been when I blacked out. I could vaguely make out the trail in the mud where I imagined he must have dragged me. I shuddered at the thought.

I struggled to my feet, wincing at the pain in my side. When I pressed my hand against it, I could feel something sticky and wet, seeping through my shirt.

Somehow I managed to stagger my way home. I was glad, at least, that I was close enough to the house that no one really saw me, stumbling along the sidewalk, covered in mud and blood.

When I finally got inside, I went immediately to the bathroom. I lifted my shirt up to inspect the damage. The cut wasn't that deep. I didn't think I'd need any stitches for it, though it didn't help the stinging pain. And besides, for a shallow cut, it was still long—starting on my back and extending around a few inches toward my stomach—and bleeding all over the place.

* * *

**Quil POV**

I raised an eyebrow at the muddy footprints leading toward the bathroom when I got home. What on earth?

I made my way to the closed bathroom door, careful to avoid the mud, and knocked. "Claire?"

Her tremulous voice came back in reply, "Quil?"

I frowned. Who else would it be? Especially since she'd taken the extra key from the porch. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes."

I waited a beat, debating with myself. Every instinct I had was screaming at me that something was wrong—horribly wrong—and every part of my being wanted to make it all right again. I was having my internal argument, gazing dumbly down at the muddy shoe print closest to the door when I heard it.

My head snapped up. "Claire? Are you crying?" My insides twisted in agony just at the thought of something hurting her.

"N-no," she said.

I tried the door, and was surprised to realize she'd left it unlocked. I pushed it open, only to stare in shock at what was in front of me.

"Don't come in!" she shrieked, her hand shooting out to grab a towel to cover up her side. Her bloody side.

I didn't listen, storming into the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind me. I saw her flinch away from me as I reached her. My hands were gentle, pulling the towel away from her. "I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered, trying to remain calm while an unholy rage was building inside of me. Claire, my Claire, was hurt and scared. Some bastard had hurt her. It was all I could do to focus on her and only her in that moment. I let the towel drop to the side. "I would never hurt you," I continued in the same soothing voice I used to use when she was small and would wake, terrified, from a nightmare.

She had cleaned the area where she'd been cut, had washed away the mud that seemed to cover every other part of her. Her shirt lay open in a curving line, one to match the one now engraved on her beautiful skin. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but dried blood still mingled with the mud on her shirt, making the injury look even worse than it was.

I braced myself. "It's coming off." I ignored her surprised cry as I gripped the edges of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

"What are you doing?" she cried, her arms crossing over her chest.

I forced myself to focus, assessing the damage. I turned her around gently, hardly noticing her attempts to struggle free before I saw, and felt the telltale shaking begin in my hands as I saw the ugly bruises starting to form on her back. Heat was building inside me as each injury, big or small, was revealed. I couldn't lose control now, not here, not in front of her, and definitely not with her so close. An image from Sam's memories of Emily flashed through my head, and I grasped onto it, hoping it would be enough to hold me until I could phase safely.

"God, Claire, what happened?"

Was that her shaking, or was it me? "I-I fell."

I grimaced at the lie. She would have had to fall into a mud bath filled with sharp stones to look like this. I guided her over to sit on the closed toilet seat before squatting down to start unlacing her shoes. "You fell and got all those bruises and this cut?" I eyed the cut. It was too clean, too perfect, to be caused by anything she might meet out in the woods. A knife, though…

"Yes," she said softly. She wouldn't meet my gaze when I looked up at her face.

I pulled her feet from her shoes, setting them next to her ruined shirt. I stood, grasping her hand and pulling her up with me. "C'mon, sweetheart. We need to get you cleaned up." I debated pulling her jeans off for her as well, but somehow that act seemed too intimate, even more so than taking her shirt off had been.

Claire seemed to read my mind. "I can do it myself."

I hesitated before nodding. "You'll be okay without me?" She nodded, still staring anywhere but directly at me. "Okay." I stepped quickly out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

I stood out in the hallway, barely able to control the shaking now that I was out of her sight, and waited only long enough to hear the shower start. Then I was out the front door, running toward the woods.

I was in my wolf form before I reached the tree line.

* * *

A/N: A whole four pages? _And_ Quil and Claire talked? Well, okay, maybe not quite in the way we would like them to, but that's coming soon. Keep reviewing and maybe you'll see it. ;) Okay, you were going to see it anyway, but how can you really be sure? 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: My current dilemma: I know all of what I want to happen for the remainder of this fanfic, but the timing is bugging the heck out of me. For instance, what I would like to do, and what I know y'all want me to do, is have the Quil-Claire talk this chapter. As much as y'all want to read it, I really want to write it. But the way I plotted it out in my head, that doesn't come until _after_ the next evil-stalker-dude sighting. I don't have anything specific for the time between the first and the second, and if I write it _right now_… seems too rushed. Yeah I know. "Why don't you just write the conversation _now?_" Because I think it fits better later. That, and Claire would be feeling a bit more desperate after it all happening twice instead of once; enough so to confide in Quil? Mayhaps. You would think so, but I wouldn't be a devious writer if I confirmed or denied that, now would I?

I just got this Calvin and Hobbes quote on facebook: "The purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure pure reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!"- Calvin. :-P

Chapter 7

**Claire POV**

When I got out of the shower, Quil was nowhere in sight. I had to fight down the feeling of irrational panic when I realized this. If I wasn't careful, I was going to lose my mind trying to live this way—not that it helped that somebody was hell-bent on making sure I didn't live _any_ way for much longer.

By the time I came out of my room, though, having changed my clothes, Quil was sitting on the couch, holding his head in his hands.

I shifted uneasily, not used to seeing him like this, feeling guilty knowing that I was the one who made him like this. It seemed like every pain he experienced was caused by me lately. It wasn't fair.

If I were honest with myself—really honest with myself—I knew that what I should have done was move out when it became clear that what I wanted and what Quil wanted were vastly different things. Well, all right, since I was being honest, we _did_ want the same things. It's just that I wanted extra things. I wanted honesty, I wanted the answers to questions he wouldn't, or couldn't, tell me—why he never seemed to get any older, why he had to stay out so late, what he _did._ God, what I would have given just to know what his work was. All I could ever get him to say was that it wasn't anything bad or illegal or anything like that. Even if it was, at least I'd _know._ If it were possible for there to be more between us—if I didn't have a boyfriend, if I didn't get the feeling sometimes that he still thought I was too young—and there wasn't that honesty, we'd still be exactly where we were now.

Still. Making us go through the motions like this, living this sort of half-life when we were together, that wasn't fair. If I really loved him—and sometimes even I wasn't sure—I wouldn't be doing that to him.

I cleared my throat. "Quil?"

He looked up at me, and I nearly grimaced at his expression. My fault. Always my fault.

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding strained. "How do you feel?"

"Better." It wasn't exactly a lie. My side wasn't stinging so much anymore and I figured that, so long as I didn't lean against anything too much, my back would be all right. But my insides were still churning. I had a feeling that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

We stayed there, staring at each other awkwardly for a minute. Finally, I said, "I should go try to finish some homework." I turned to leave.

"Claire…"

I didn't look at him. I knew the minute I did, it would all come spewing out. I knew I should tell him, I _wanted_ to tell him. What I wanted more than anything, though, was to never have to see that stricken expression on his face again.

So, instead of letting out everything that had been inside me for six months now, I just waved him away, saying I was fine, I had a lot of work to do.

Of course, the "if I can't see it, it isn't there" idea can only work for so long.

* * *

Saturday night usually meant sitting on Matt's couch, watching movies. We weren't really the go-out type of people, and Matt had an understandable aversion to spending too much time at my house when Quil was there, so I had become rather well acquainted with his living room couch.

On this particular Saturday, we were alone. His parents had gone to visit some friends, and his brother was spending the night at one of his friends' houses. That didn't seem to happen too much anymore, so I was determined to enjoy it.

Apparently I didn't do a good enough job, though, because about half way through the movie—which, all right, wasn't that good anyway—Matt paused it and turned to look at me.

"Claire, is something going on?"

God, did everyone have to ask me that? "No. Why?"

Matt sighed. "Nothing. It just seems like you've been incredibly distant lately." He attempted a smile. "Even more than usual."

I could feel my cheeks heating up and looked back at the TV so I wouldn't have to look at his face. "Sorry. Just… I've had a lot of stuff on my mind."

"More notes?" Matt was probably the only person—besides whoever was doing it—who knew anything about what was going on. When it first started, I'd showed him a couple of the notes, and he'd agreed with me with that they were probably a stupid prank.

I hesitated. "It's more than that."

Maybe it was the stress finally getting to me, or an overflow from all the times I'd wanted to tell Quil but couldn't. For whatever reason, it all finally came out. All of it. Matt just sat there and let me ramble, squeezing my hand, letting me cry, letting me go on until I was spent.

When I was done, he was quiet for a minute, just looking at me. I half-expected him to laugh and tell me was I was a lunatic, because that's probably how I sounded.

But of course, he didn't. He just took me in his arms and held me for awhile, kissing the top of my head, before finally saying, "Don't worry about it. I won't let anyone hurt you." He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "No one'll get through me."

Being able to talk to him did help a little, at least. It didn't help the fear, but it lifted some of the burden to have told someone.

Interestingly, though, he never once mentioned anything about going to the police.

* * *

A/N: Odd how that works.

Yeah, I know, not what you were expecting. :-P This chapter took me a ridiculous amount of time to write, and I don't really like the end result as much as I've liked some of the others. -sigh- Don't look at me like that. :( At any rate, I didn't think I'd included Matt enough. Y'all will forgive me… probably… someday…


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: You know, I don't think it's ever taken seven chapters for anyone to figure it out. :-P I have no idea how I made it that long without giving it away to be honest. ;)

Though, no one's guessed the motive right. :( Well, okay, that one's a little… less obvious. But it's fun to watch the confusion. And no one's asked about the title, either… okay, granted, I have a habit of making titles that have nothing specific to do with the story, but I haven't written nearly enough in this fandom for y'all to know that, and, as far as I know, of those who have been kind enough to review (hint hint) only one person has actually read anything I've written in any other fandom. -sigh- But still, not one person's asked… hmm.

I don't foreshadow. I really don't know _what_ anyone's talking about… ;)

Chapter 8

I don't know what happened. I was careful. I didn't do anything too stupid—I didn't try going to far alone again, I usually had Matt or sometimes Quil with me. Hell, going up the street to talk to Emily had been enough of a trek to go by myself.

All I did was step out onto the back porch for a minute. That's all. In theory, there should be nothing overly dangerous about that. Quil called on his way home from wherever-he-goes and asked me if I could go outside and cover up the grill. It was supposed to storm—how unusual—and he'd forgotten to the night before when we'd made hamburgers for dinner.

Not a problem. Just walk out the back door, pick up the cover, and put it over the grill. Easy. No problem. It should not, in theory, be a life and death situation.

Right. In theory.

I had just finished pulling the cover down over the grill when I saw him. I opened my mouth to scream—to do _something—_but his fist came down on me instead, making me teeter from my position at edge of the porch. I tried to grab onto the grill cover for purchase, but he managed to drag me off the porch.

I kicked and tried to claw at him, but he hardly seemed to notice as he dropped down to his knees and dragged me into the space beneath the porch.

The minute his hand let go, I tried to aim a punch at his face—which, of course, was covered by a mask, and all I could make out were a pair of brown eyes—but he grabbed my arm and twisted, his other hand coming down over my mouth to muffle my cry of surprised pain. Then he was on top of me, the hand holding my arm let go and balled into a fist. I tried to twist away, but he was too heavy, and the first hit took me off guard. I bucked and twisted, trying to get him off me, trying to get away from him. He just laughed at me.

I heard the back door bang open. "Claire?"

_Quil._ I tried to call out to him, but all that came out, thanks to the hand clamped over my mouth, was a muffled humming sound. And then even that was cut off when my attacker's thumb moved to press down over my nose, cutting off my air.

My attempts to get away became more frenzied, especially when, a few airless seconds later, I heard the back door close again.

He chuckled. "Aww, don't make it _that_ easy. Keep fighting like that, you'll use up all your oxygen quicker." He sounded vaguely disappointed, actually.

Black spots were starting to cloud my vision and my lungs were burning for air. It couldn't really end like this, could it? Suffocating to death, only a few precious feet from safety?

I don't remember what happened after that. I may have blacked out, though it couldn't have been for more than a couple minutes. But suddenly I could breathe again, and the weight had been lifted off of me.

I sat up, confused, but my attacker was gone. What the hell?

I crawled out from under the porch, wincing at what I was certain were new bruises forming. The yard was empty when I stood up and looked around.

What had happened? Where did my attacker go? Why was I still breathing when he'd seemed so intent on killing me?

_Too easy._ I shuddered. Two direct attempts on my life and he let me go both times. Why? What was the point? I started shaking at the next thought: How long would it continue?

I made my way back into the house, praying that Quil wouldn't see me first thing.

No such luck. "Claire?"

I winced, turning back to look at Quil as he stood up from the couch. "Hey," I said weakly.

His dark eyes were filled with that all too familiar concern. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I croaked, feeling like any second I was about to fall apart. The adrenaline rush of trying to fight had worn off, leaving me with nothing but the same old fear and confusion.

Quil frowned, coming toward me. I backed up as he advanced, my mind racing to think of how to get to my room without a confrontation.

"Claire," he said softly, his hand reaching out to me. I flinched and he hesitated. "Claire, please." I'd never heard such a pleading tone in his voice before. "Talk to me. Whatever it is. Please. I can't stand watching you like this anymore."

I was shaking by this point, my grasp on my composure quickly slipping away. "I can't." I turned to leave, to flee.

He grabbed my arm gently. "Please. I could help you."

"Quil…" And then all hope of keeping things quiet was lost, because the sob that had been building up in my chest for what seemed like months finally let itself out. And then more started coming, and before I could work up the effort to protest, Quil was pulling me back to the couch where he sat and pulled me onto his lap.

We sat like that for a long time, me trying to curl up into his chest and sobbing, and him just holding me, until finally I became too warm from being so close to him—he was always so _hot_—and he reluctantly let me off his lap. I didn't go very far, though, I stayed on the couch next to him.

"_Now_ will you please tell me what's going on?" Quil asked, his eyes pleading.

I couldn't look at him while I answered. "Someone's trying to kill me."

I heard him suck in a breath. When I finally met his gaze, I was confused by what I saw there. Fear, guilt, rage. A mixture of other things that I couldn't place or couldn't understand.

"Why?" he finally managed to choke out.

I shook my head, feeling helpless. "I don't know. I just know that someone's been leaving me threatening notes for a few months. And then… well, the accident—" I grimaced at his expression—"getting attacked in the woods, just now…"

His face paled. "What do you mean, _just now?_"

"It's nothing. It's just…" I sighed, looking at him sadly. "It's not exactly the first time someone's been by the house."

He was suddenly off the couch and stalking across the room. "Quil?"

"Give me a minute," he called over his shoulder in a hoarse voice. I noticed for the first time that he was shaking violently.

I sat, frozen, on the couch, watching him, waiting for him to say something, to _do_ something.

He ran his hand over his face, and sighed, and the shaking eased the tiniest bit. He turned again to face me, his expression suddenly resolute. "We need to talk."

I was confused by this. That's what I thought we _were_ doing. "Okay…" I said slowly.

Quil stayed where he was, seeming not to dare to come back to the couch. "Do you remember all those questions you used to ask me? The ones I couldn't answer?"

I remembered them all too well. "Yes."

He started pacing. Suddenly he seemed to decide to change tactics. "You've heard the Quileute legends, right? The ones about the werewolves and the 'cold ones?'"

I nodded, wondering what this had to do with anything.

Quil's eyes were grim. "They're true."

"_What?"_

"They're true. I'm a werewolf."

I let out a surprised laugh. He was joking. He had to be joking, trying to distract me. When I said this to him, he just shook his head.

"Why do you think I haven't gotten any older? Why do you think I've had to keep so many secrets from you?"

And then it all came out—about the pack, about vampires—_vampires,_ if you can believe it—about everything.

"What does all this have to do with me?" I demanded, confused, not knowing whether or not to really believe him. It _did_ answer a lot of questions but… werewolves. Really. I think anyone would have a hard time swallowing that one.

Quil looked unsure of himself for a moment. "Imprinting."

I just stared blankly at him.

"It's… I don't know how to explain it." Quil shook his head. "At least not in a way that will make sense to you. I…" he paused, turning his head to stare at nothing. "It's how we find our 'mate,' I guess. Our soul mate." He smiled wryly, almost to himself. "Jacob used to describe it as gravity shifting. Once you see them… nothing else matters. Nothing is more important than their happiness." When he turned to look at me again, his eyes were bleak. "Even if it means sacrificing your own in the process."

I sat perfectly still, trying to absorb what he was trying to tell me. "You imprinted on me?"

"Yes." He watched me carefully. "The first time I saw you."

"When I was _two?_"

To my surprise, Quil chuckled. "It's not exactly like it sounds. At that age… it wasn't like that for me, you have to understand. I was prepared to be anything you wanted, anything you needed… a big brother, a friend, whatever it was, and I'd change as what you needed… wanted… from me changed." His eyes were tight, and I had a feeling that I knew what he didn't want to say—that, eventually, he would have been my boyfriend, my… husband.

"Do I have a choice?" My question came out in a whisper.

"Of course you do." His reassuring smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You always have a choice. And… if you changed your mind… no matter how long from now… I'd still be here."

I shook my head. "Why are you telling me all this now? Why not before?" Why not when we still had a chance? But I didn't ask that question.

His smile faded. "I was an idiot," he said simply. "I tried to convince myself that you were too young. And then…"

"And then I stopped asking," I finished.

He nodded. "Yes." Quil smiled weakly, and then that one too quickly faded. "I'm telling you now because…" he shook his head. "I can protect you. _We _can protect you."

"The pack?"

"Of course." He shrugged. "You're family. If you'd told any one of us that you wouldn't get the same reaction?"

I thought about it for a minute. Sam, Embry, Jacob, Leah, Seth—my mother's own cousins, even—the rest of these people who I'd spent my whole life around… I couldn't imagine any of them _not_ helping me if I went to them with a problem.

It was a comforting thought.

* * *

A/N: You know how long it took me to write this chapter? And I still don't think I wrote it as well as I could have. Ugh. At least it was longer than normal. Five pages, though with this author's note, it's six. Bleh.

Review?


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: You guys are so funny. :-P It was only eight chapters. You know what happened in Chapter 8 of Twilight? Yeah, the whole Port Angeles thing. That's all right, your impatience makes me smile. ;)

Chapter 9

"You really don't need to prove anything to me," I informed him as he dragged me outside. "Honestly, I'll take your word for it."

Quil sent me an incredulous look as he led me toward the trees. "Are you kidding? Unless I show you, you're never going to fully believe me, and you know it." He seemed unusually edgy, which I thought was weird—wouldn't me knowing the truth make things easier?

"Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. I'll explain after you see, okay?"

I considered that for a moment as we came to a stop—far enough in the trees, I guess, that he thought no one would see. "Promise?"

Quil chuckled. "It's not a big secret, Claire, don't worry. It'll just make more sense once you've seen me." He looked around at our surroundings before looking back at me. "Wait here a minute, okay?"

My eye nearly bugged out of my head. "You're leaving?"

"I'm not going that far, don't worry," he said, laughing. "It's just better if you don't see me phase. Clothes have a tendency of shredding if I'm wearing them when I do." He shot me a significant look.

I blushed. "Oh." Embry's trip to the house to pick up an extra shirt for Quil suddenly made more sense.

"Besides," he continued, "it's better if I'm not too close to you when I phase." All humor suddenly left his expression.

"Why?" At his uncomfortable look, I guessed, "Something for after I see you?"

He nodded, then offered me a quick smile. "Be right back."

I stood waiting for what seemed like forever, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. I didn't like being by myself, for obvious reasons, even knowing Quil wasn't that far off.

Suddenly something emerged from the trees. It looked less like a wolf at first than a monstrously large bear, with chocolate brown fur. I took an instinctive step back as it approached. "Q-Quil?"

He made a rumbling sound, deep in his chest. I wondered idly if he was laughing. Who else would it be? But his giant head bobbed in a nod, and I took a few tentative steps toward him, reaching my hand out until it touched the fur on the side of his head.

I gave a shaky laugh. "God, as though you weren't big enough already." This elicited another deep rumbling noise, and I felt myself slowly relax. It wasn't scary or anything, it's just that it was so… "surprising" doesn't seem like the right word for it. I'm not exactly sure what is.

We stood there like that for awhile, and after a few minutes I was completely comfortable, in a way I didn't think I would be. I ran my hands over his warm fur, tentatively at first, but he didn't seem to mind it. I was almost sorry when he went to phase back.

When Quil emerged from the trees, human once again, he had a broad grin on his face. He took my hand when he reached me. "Thank you. That… that went a lot better than I'd hoped to imagine."

I was confused for a minute. "What? Did you… did you think you'd scare me off?"

His smile was a little sad. "I hoped not."

We turned and started for home. "Tell me the other reason you couldn't phase in front of me."

He considered his words for a minute. "You've seen what happened to your Aunt Emily," he finally said simply.

I turned to stare at him. "I thought… Everyone said a bear…"

Quil shook his head. "When we're young—when we've just phased for the first time—it's hard for us to control. Even after all these years, Jake's still the best of us at controlling it." Quil shrugged. "If we weren't careful, if we lost control—especially with our anger—well…"

"Sam lost control," I guessed. I felt my stomach roll at the mental images that were coming to mind.

"And still hasn't fully forgiven himself for it."

We walked on for a minute in silence. "Quil?"

"Hmm?"

I hesitated. I wasn't completely sure I wanted to know this part, or if it really mattered. "How old are you?"

He didn't look at me as he answered. "I was sixteen when I imprinted on you."

"So that makes you…"

Quil nodded. "Thirty, that's right." He finally glanced at me. "Does it make a difference?"

"No," I said, deciding then that it didn't. Not to me, anyway. "It's just nice to know."

* * *

"I'm so glad Quil finally told you," Emily said to me a few days later as we sat in her kitchen. "I've been telling him for years that he waited too long." She shook her head.

I smiled. "Yeah, well, it's certainly a relief for me. I hated being the only one who didn't know."

She laughed at that. "Believe me, we were all aware."

Ever since I'd talked to Quil, I hadn't spent a moment by myself. Quil insisted on driving me to school, though Matt still drove me home. I spent the majority of my afternoons at my aunt's—ironically, since I was technically supposed to be living there anyway—until Quil came to pick me up. It seemed I was destined to go around with escort, everywhere I went.

Not that I was really complaining.

Anyway, Emily made us some tea and we sat at the kitchen table, talking for awhile before I'd go work on homework, as was quickly becoming our habit.

During a lull in the conversation, I started tracing the rim of my mug, debating with myself. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to bring it up. "Aunt Emily?" I asked, finally.

"Yes?"

I bit my lip. "Quil said something… about imprinting…" I glanced up at her to see her nod encouragingly. "He said there's a choice."

Emily watched me carefully. "Yes…" she said slowly. "For you there's a choice." She smiled. "Even if he hadn't imprinted on you, even if he'd just developed feelings on his own, you would have had a choice." She paused to take a sip of her tea. "He was never the type to force someone into something like that, even before." I didn't have to ask what she meant by "before."

I nodded. "Has that happened before, though? I mean, has the… person who a werewolf imprinted on said no?" When she hesitated, I answered my own question. "No. I guess not." I frowned down at my tea again.

We were quiet for a long moment. Finally I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know, "Can it happen twice? I mean, can a werewolf imprint twice?"

Emily sat back in her chair, seeming to mull that one over for a minute. "I don't know," she answered finally. "I haven't heard of it happening before, not in the legends or anything else, at least." Then she shrugged. "Of course, before Sam imprinted on me, no one thought imprinting was possible, either, so maybe…"

"But you don't think so," I concluded.

She sent me a pitying look. "No."

I don't know if it was any better having talked to Emily. If anything, it just made some things harder. Especially when I considered that there wasn't anything really holding me back anymore from the one thing I'd wanted for years.

Well, okay. There was _one_ thing. Or rather, one person.

* * *

A/N: Fabulous news reviewers: My heat turned on:) What does that mean for you?

Well, nothing except that you don't have to worry about me freezing to death before this story's over. I'd think that would be a happy fact, don't you? (Please say yes.)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I don't know why I'm starting this chapter tonight (Thursday.) I'm too tired to actually finish it. But if, by some miracle, I do, well… Yey!

Chapter 10

I didn't do it because of Quil. At least, that's what I told myself at the time. It's a bit easier not to feel guilty if you convince yourself that you're not breaking up with your boyfriend just because you want to date someone else, no matter what the circumstances are.

And, to be truthful, I didn't really want to think too much about me and Quil in that way yet. For the moment, it was a nice image to keep in my head for the future, if I got there, something to look forward to. He wasn't going anywhere, and maybe, if I could trust myself to give in to those old feelings, I wasn't either. Assuming my immediate future didn't involve my death—what a cheerful thought—we had all the time in the world. Especially when Quil informed me that he wouldn't really get older physically until he could control himself enough to stop phasing altogether.

Which, you know, was something of a relief, considering he looked about twenty-five. That meant I had a whole nine years to catch up to him, if I wanted to. If I had the chance to.

Which is why I thought it was better to wait until all the danger passed before seeing what might happen. It's hard to enjoy that sort of thing when you know it might be all too short-lived, no matter how much Quil tried to reassure me. I'd be an idiot to ignore the possibilities, to be prepared for them. Easy to say when the possibilities aren't right in front of me.

So, with all that in mind, when Matt dropped me off at Emily's on Wednesday after school, I asked him if he could take a walk with me for a bit. I'd told Emily ahead of time so she wouldn't worry if I was late, of course. He was planning a trip to Olympia for that weekend, and I figured I might as well get it over with then, instead of having to agonize over it until Monday.

Understand something, too: Audrey was right. It wasn't fair to stay with someone for whom I didn't have strong feelings for, considering what my alternative was. It wasn't fair to me, or to Quil, and it definitely wasn't fair to Matt. Besides, I knew that it would have ultimately come to an end soon anyway. We were already in early April by then, and Matt's graduation was only two months away. He'd be off to New York in September. I wasn't vested enough in the relationship to do the distance thing—hell, when I went to college myself, I highly doubted that I'd even leave the state. I might go as far as Seattle, but that was it, definitely not so far that I couldn't come home easily if I needed to.

Matt and I walked a little ways up the road in silence for a few minutes while I tried to figure out what I wanted to say. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't at all sure how he'd take it. I knew he cared about me, but I'd gotten the sense that it was like the way I felt about him—I cared, but it wasn't really enough. Not for what was ahead of us, anyway.

"Matt…" I began, pausing for a moment. I tried to start again, "Listen, we've been together for awhile now, haven't we?"

He nodded. "Fifteen months," he said, as though we both didn't know exactly how long it had been.

"Right. And I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together… but…" I was botching this, I knew it. I'd never broken up with someone before, and it was coming out like a bad teenage drama flick.

Thankfully, Matt saved me from utter humiliation. "Don't worry about it," he said, stopping our walk. He offered me a small, sad smile. "I figured something like this was coming. What with graduation, and me going off to the East Coast next fall…" he waved his hand as though to say "and so on and so forth," or something like that. He shrugged. "It's probably easier this way, for both of us."

I smiled, relieved. "You have no idea how glad I am that you understand."

"I do. I'm kind of glad you brought it up, though, I'm not sure if I could have."

We started walking back toward the Uley's in a comfortable silence. I couldn't believe how well he was taking this. It was a relief—one less thing to worry over.

We stopped on the front porch. I turned to face him. "I hope I didn't ruin your trip."

Matt smiled again, this time looking a little brighter. "Don't sweat it." He leaned in and gave me a goodbye kiss on the cheek—like a friend now, not a boyfriend. "I'll see you around, Claire."

I watched him go, happy to have at least one burden lifted.

* * *

It wasn't his fault. No matter how many times I tell him that, I don't think Quil will ever believe me. There was bound to be a way through our defenses somewhere. I didn't blame him—or any of them, for that matter—for it, and I don't think I ever will.

Quil swore up and down later that he only left me alone for five minutes. That was all, maybe not even that. But five minutes was all it took.

Five minutes to break in through the back door, make it to my room, wake me up in the process, and knock me out. And to get me out of the house before Quil got back.

It took him five minutes to do all that, it would take me much longer to recover.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's so short. This is mostly just a transition chapter. I really don't have it in me right now to write a longer chapter, but a longer (rather important) one will be up tomorrow some time. I promise. :-P Besides, this way you get it faster—if I'd waited till tomorrow to write and post this chapter, you might not have gotten Chapter 11 till Saturday, and who wants that? 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I don't know how long I was out for. When I came to, though, I didn't recognize my surroundings. I was in a tiny building—I could see weeds coming through a gap in wood boards of the walls—the only light coming from a lantern on the floor.

My arms and legs had been bound with rope, and a rag was fastened around my mouth. I could barely move, and believe me, I tried. I tried wiggling free of the ropes, but my efforts only made them dig more painfully into my wrists and ankles.

"Don't bother," Matt said from his position, leaning against the door. "You won't do anything except make this harder on yourself."

I tried to say something, but it didn't exactly come out around the gag.

Matt considered me for a moment, then shrugged. He came forward and lowered the gag so that it hung around my neck now. He stepped back to his position by the door. "You were saying?"

"Why?" I demanded. My voice sounded horribly raspy.

"You know, it's a funny thing about people," Matt said, whether in answer to my question, I couldn't really tell yet. "Comparatively, we're weak with no real defenses, and yet we can manage to survive so much." He shook his head. "It's rather fascinating, actually. I was a little curious to see just how much a person could survive." He smiled ironically at me. "Well, okay, maybe _a lot_ curious."

I gaped at him. "That's sick."

Matt shrugged. "Maybe." Then, he shook his head. "You did make it a little too easy for me, though." He frowned at me, as though this was all somehow my fault.

"Sorry," I muttered sarcastically. "And fifteen months means nothing to you?"

Matt snorted derisively. "Right. Because it meant so much to you." At my shocked look, he continued, "Come on, Claire, what kind of idiot do you take me for? You've been mooning over Quil—for God's sake, how much older than you is he, anyway? I'm not blind." He shook his head again. "At any rate, it was as good an excuse as any to use you for this little experiment."

"Wait!" I cried as he came forward again. "What are you going to do?"

He grinned suddenly. "Me? I'm not going to do anything. I figure it this way," he said, bending down to put the gag in place again, "I could drag this out much longer if I just leave this one up to mother nature." He stood back and considered me for a moment. "I wonder how that would take? A few days? A couple weeks? Longer than anything I could manage, anyway."

If I wasn't scared before, I was panicking then as he opened the door. Unfortunately, anything I could think to say to delay him was muffled by the gag.

"Look on the bright side," Matt said, standing outside now, with his hand against the door. "You'll probably die of thirst before you actually starve." As though was supposed to comfort me. "I'll be back in a few days," he promised, and then closed the door, taking the lantern—my only source of light—with him, and plunging me into darkness.

About an hour later I realized I had a few more immediate problems. There wasn't exactly a way for me to… umm… relieve myself. Not without completely ruining my pajama bottoms and making myself even more uncomfortable than I already was.

An hour after that was when my stomach started rumbling.

And then, at some point after I lost track of the time, I heard the first peel of thunder. That was about the time when I realized my real problem—the worst possible problem a person living in the state of Washington could have.

The roof leaked.

* * *

**Quil POV**

Two days. That's how long we'd been looking for her. We had split off, half of us in the woods, half of us searching La Push and Forks, though by halfway through the second day, that group had expanded to nearby towns.

Sam, Jacob, Embry, Jared and I were spending almost all of our time in wolf form, out in the woods, trying to pick up a scent. It was the only thing we had to go on.

I tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear my pack mates' thoughts as we ran, even though they were trying hard not to let me hear.

Jacob and Embry were worried for me. They could feel my guilt and panic like it was their own, and, of course, were worried about Claire, too. But they, and Jared, were trying very hard to keep their doubts from me. Not that it worked very well.

And Sam… well, Sam was almost as worried as I was. Except that his worry was divided between Claire and what it might do to Emily if…

I pushed forward, thinking that maybe, if I just kept going, I could outrun my guilt, my worry, my own doubts—what if we didn't find her? What if it was already too late?

It was about noon on the third day when we finally picked up Matt's scent. Not long after that, we caught Claire's.

We finally found her in an old shed. It was at one end of an old campsite that was filled with overgrown weeds.

I don't know how I controlled myself enough to phase back. I really couldn't tell you. But somehow I managed, and broke the rusty padlock on the shed.

I flung open the door, only to gag when the stench inside hit my oversensitive nose. The entire building reeked of urine and vomit. But none of it mattered when, a moment later, I heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

A whimper.

Claire was pushed up against the farthest corner of the shed, her dark eyes round with fear and her beautiful mouth covered by a dirty rag.

"Oh, Claire," I whispered, and I was at her side in an instant, my hands hurriedly tugging away the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.

She let out a sob when I removed the gag, her arms falling limply at her sides after two and a half days of no movement.

"Shh," I said, taking her in my arms as though she were still a child, ignoring the soggy and smelly state of her clothes. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch. "It's all right, no one's going to hurt you. You're safe," I whispered over and over, trying to convince us both as I stood.

Claire buried her face in my neck, her hands coming up slowly—painfully—to latch around my shoulders as best she could. I tried not to wince at how cold she felt.

She was too light. Not that I'd ever had a hard time lifting her—she was only a little over five feet tall, and already skinny as it was. But right at that moment, she felt impossibly small.

_Matt._ I wanted nothing more than to rip him to shreds for doing this to her. Or better yet, to do all the things he'd been doing to Claire—let him get a taste of the fear that she had had to deal with these past months.

But I had to think of Claire. Nothing could be more important to me right then except getting her to safety. Nothing could come before that.

"Quil." I turned to see Sam standing just outside the door. He was having a very hard time keeping the horrified expression off his face. "Go," he said. "We'll stay here and wait for him. Take care of her."

I nodded my thanks at them and headed out of the shed, clutching Claire close to my chest. "Hold on tight, love," I murmured into her hair.

I started to run.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I know. This was supposed to be out yesterday. :( Sorry. It wasn't working for some reason yesterday. I could've tried forcing it, but then… eww. It would've gotten pretty ugly, trust me. Y'all would not have liked it. You might not have liked it anyway, but at least this way there was half a chance… 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Yeah… this is taking longer than usual, isn't it? Sorry. :-(

Chapter 12

**Claire POV**

I was feeling a very odd sense of déjà vu.

There were some important differences, of course. I was actually conscious for my trip through the emergency room—along with being "malnourished" I was apparently dehydrated—and, once I was ensconced in my hospital room, I got to have a chat with Charlie Swan, the police chief. Which, admittedly, was a bit weird, because almost all of the interactions I'd had with him up to that point were on the rare occasions I'd see him around the Blacks' house, since he was good friends with Jacob's father.

At any rate, I had to go through the whole sordid tale at least three times. By the end of it, I would have liked nothing better than to curl up in a corner for awhile and pretend that the rest of the world didn't exist, if just to get them to leave me alone.

The pack arrived a few hours after Quil and I got to the hospital. I didn't get all of the gory details about what they did to Matt—from what Embry started to tell me, before Quil told him to shut up, anyway, it sounded like he'd need a trip to emergency room even more than I did.

To be honest, I didn't really want to think about Matt. As it was, I had to see his face every time I closed my eyes—smiling at me, looking so very pleased with himself to have gotten so far. Or worse—smiling at me like he _cared_. Holding my hand, kissing me, telling me he loved me—even if it was just because we'd been together so long and it just seemed like the sort of thing one _did._

How can they both be the same person? How can someone say they love you one day, and the next be plotting to kill you?

I don't know. And what's worse, even if I had the chance I wouldn't have asked him. Because, as much as I didn't want to admit it to anyone, I couldn't help but wonder—was it indicative of him, or some flaw in myself?

What a sick thought, I know. Blame myself for the sick things _he'd_ done. Isn't that supposed to be the trap people fall into in abusive relationships? If I'd been a better girlfriend, if I hadn't been in love with Quil—because, you know, I could _control_ that—maybe…

I didn't tell anyone about that, though, not even Quil. I knew I was being irrational. I didn't need them to tell me that.

* * *

Everyone kind of reacted the way you might expect them to. My mother bawled and wouldn't leave me alone for the longest time. I didn't mind so much this time, though. It's just that the more she cried, the more it made _me_ cry, even though, by that point, I was sure I'd cried myself out. I told Quil that maybe the IV in my arm—what was supposed to be pumping all the fluids I'd lost back into me—was overflowing my tear ducts.

It was a very lame attempt at a joke. Neither of us laughed.

Emily arrived first, of course, along with the other half of the pack that wasn't out in the woods waiting for Matt. I think it was the first time I'd ever seen her cry. Actually, come to think of it, she was nearly as bad as my mother.

But, believe it or not, none of them were as bad as Audrey.

After the little episode with my parents, Audrey came and sat next to my bed for what seemed like an eternity. She didn't say anything, though. She just sat there and looked at me, her eyes all red and puffy, as though she'd spent the entire plane ride from Sacramento crying.

I shifted uneasily, not knowing what to say. Audrey never _not_ talked. How many times had Quil and I teased her about that? Thousands, it seemed like.

And yet she sat there, in complete silence.

"I'm okay," I tried to reassure her. "Really. A few days maybe, I'll be fine." Physically, anyway.

No response.

In the end, I don't know what it was that broke through. I only know that one minute I was trying to get a response out of her, the next Audrey was hugging me so tight I could hardly breathe.

"If you ever scare me like that again, I swear I'll kill you myself." Sisterly concern, Audrey style.

A/N: That part, at least, I could base off what I imagine my sister would do. ;-)

Yeah, I know. This was insanely short. I'm having end-of-story writer's block. :-( And it wasn't that good anyway, I know. You don't have to tell me if you were feeling inclined. ;-) Besides, I'm going to be out of town all this weekend (going to visit my best friend at her college, yeeeey!) So, just in case more writer's block strikes for next chapter, at least I won't have gone a whole week without updating. Eww. I don't want to do that—more time I take to write a chapter, less chance I'll continue, and I would really rather not do that this close to the end. That wouldn't be very nice, and I'd be very annoyed with myself, anyway.

Oh, and Happy Halloween. :)


	13. Author's Note

A/N: Aww hell. All right. Let me explain to you what just happened.

I got a plot bunny-esque creature in my brain to write a Quil/Claire drabble collection of 365prompts nature. If you don't know what that is, go to livejournal and search for that username/community. I got to January 2 when I realized, "Hey… I still have _The Experiment_'s plot line on the brain." And so… the sequel was born.

I was planning to write a sequel anyway. Mostly because this story? Yeah. Absolutely refused to have a proper ending. And… all my ideas? Really, really do not fit with the way this story is currently going.

I tried writing the last chapter to this. I did. I wrote about a page just now. I deleted it. Why? Because it started reading like what every person who has never read a romance novel in their lives and yet finds the need to make fun of them seems to think a romance novel should read like. And that just doesn't work. That, and I shouldn't be utterly disgusted with my writing in the last chapter. Especially not after I just wrote thirteen pages of drabbles, most of which don't make me want to puke like this sad attempt at a Chapter 13 did.

Be pissed if you so wish. I know I am. Don't let it deter you from reading the other, though, please. Because, as you all know by now, lack of reviews makes me sad. I'm a review whore. Yeah, I said it. I'm not proud of it, but I am what I am, and that's all that I am. The end.

It's 10:42 in the morning, and I haven't been to bed. That, and I just wrote a craptastic page of fluffy muck. Not even good fluff. Bad, awful, misplaced fluffy muck. Nothing puts me in a crappier mood than my own bad writing. I'm dying to use some stronger language, but this story's rated T. Y'all don't need to hear my potty mouth. Some of you already know my mind resides permanently in the gutter, anyway, if I've reviewed your stories. Especially those rated M.

And so… I am off to possibly sleep. Probably write. I kind of wish this story didn't have 93 reviews right now. If it goes past 100… bleh. I'd almost prefer it didn't, just because it feels like such a wasted effort. My only story to pass 100 reviews was _Lost_ for the Mediator fandom, and I'd list it as the best thing I've written. Ever. For anything. I'm rather proud of its 160 reviews, even though, compared to half the stories I see in Twilight, it's nothing. Still, it's about twice as much as my third highest review count. And I just got review 160 the other day.

I'm going to stop now, because I could go on about how much I love that story for ages. I'm awfully pleased with how it turned out (stories _never_ turn out _exactly_ the way I'd imagine it for a best case scenario. Never. It just doesn't happen.)


End file.
